“There!” he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction; “sit right down, ma’am.”

The lady sat as requested, her feet amid the hardware boxes and her hands upon the bench before her.  She was evidently very nervous, for her fingers gripped each other tightly.  And, when she next spoke, she did not look at her companion.

“Mr. Winslow,” she began, “I—­I believe—­that is, Babbie tells me that—­that last evening, when you and she were on your way back here in the boat, she said something—­she told you something concerning our—­my—­family affairs which—­which—­”

She faltered, seeming to find it hard to continue.  Jed did not wait.  He was by this time at least as nervous as she was and considerably more distressed and embarrassed.  He rose from the box and extended a protesting hand.

“Now, now, ma’am,” he begged.  “Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please—­please don’t say any more.  It ain’t necessary, honest it ain’t.  She—­ she—­that child she didn’t tell me much of anything anyhow, and she didn’t mean to tell that.  And if you knew how ashamed and—­and mean I’ve felt ever since to think I let myself hear that much!  I hope—­I do hope you don’t think I tried to get her to tell me anything.  I do hope you don’t think that.”

His agitation was so acute and so obvious that she looked at him in wonder for a moment.  Then she hastened to reassure him.

“Don’t distress yourself, Mr. Winslow,” she said, smiling sadly.  “I haven’t known you very long but I have already learned enough about you to know that you are an honorable man.  If I did not know that I shouldn’t be here now.  It is true that I did not mean for you or any one here in Orham to learn of my—­of our trouble, and if Babbie had not told you so much I probably should never have spoken to you about it.  The poor child’s conscience troubled her so last evening that she came crying to me and confessed, and it is because I gathered from her that she had told enough to make you at least guess the truth that I am here now.  I prefer that you should hear the story just as it is from me, rather than imagine something which might be worse.  Don’t you see?”

Jed saw, but he was still very much perturbed.

“Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong,” he begged, “don’t tell me anything, please don’t.  I laid awake about all night thinkin’ what I’d ought to do, whether I’d ought to tell you what Babbie said, or just not trouble you at all and try to forget I ever heard it.  That’s what I decided finally, to forget it; and I will—­I vow and declare I will!  Don’t you tell me anything, and let me forget this.  Now please.”

But she shook her head.  “Things like that are not so easily forgotten,” she said; “even when one tries as hard to forget as I am sure you would, Mr. Winslow.  No, I want to tell you; I really do.  Please don’t say any more.  Let me go on. . . .  Oh,” with a sudden burst of feeling “can’t you see that I must talk with someone—­I must?”